With a twitch of his pinkish-white nose, he would turn to me and say, “Thank you for your assistance. In payment for your help, I know of a really great recipe for carrot cake that I’d like to try. If you’re ever in the area, look me up and I’ll bake it for you.” I never understood what that meant, and never really thought of it again until I closed my eyes shortly after leaving Dr. Ambrose on that hospital balcony. It was as it had been all those years ago, though I was naturally older, and the streets had changed some since then. The rabbit, still pristine white with curious eyes, waited as we stood at the crosswalk, the red hand signal blinking at us like a mad eye. I asked question after question, the topics varying from the mundane to the obscure—for a rabbit, anyway—yet the rabbit remained silent, simply clutching onto his letter with a focused paw while his ears twittered left and right, taking in the sounds of traffic and activity around us.
